Thursdays
by The Angel of London
Summary: Dean saw him every Thursday. Fitting, that.
1. The First Thursday

**Thursdays**

It was a Thursday when Dean first bumped into him. He was standing by the bus stop under the pouring rain, foot tapping impatiently on the ground. Every so often he would check his watch, and sigh once he realised few minutes had passed since the last time.

The rain was only barely letting up when he saw another man, slightly shorter than him but with hair wild enough to almost make up the difference, walk up to the same stop and stand a few feet away from him.

Dean noticed he was clearly soaking wet, despite having a much drier umbrella in hand. But, instead of rudely asking why – he wasn't usually very nosy – he shrugged the absurdity off and waved down the approaching bus with relief.

_**Words: **__128_

_**Posted: **__11__th__ August 2013_


	2. The Second Thursday

**Thursdays**

The second time was exactly a week later, and the weather had remained as depressing and wet as it had been that first Thursday all week. Again, Dean had been in too much of a rush to grab his umbrella – he'd been able to get his jacket quickly only because it was by the door.

He could do nothing but stand and wait, this time staring at his watch intently as though willing it to speed up. He cursed himself for getting up late once again, subsequently missing both breakfast – his stomach rumbled as an uncomfortable reminder of that fact – and the bus (the latter by a mere minute, to his frustration).

After waiting perhaps fifteen, twenty minutes, he noticed the same trenchcoat clad man from the week before. Still in too foul of a mood to even attempt to be pleasant, he opted rather to glare at the blue eyed man – whose hair, even wet, seemed to be stubbornly determined to remain messed up – and the lack of use of that umbrella.

As he boarded the bus, he sneezed. Damn his faulty alarm clock.

_**Words: **__185_

_**Written: **__12__th__ August 2013_


	3. The Thursday After Next

**Thursdays**

It wasn't until the Thursday after next that Dean saw that man again. He'd been off sick for a week due to his lack of care and had spent that time moaning and sleeping – he also watched a fair amount of soap operas, not that he'd ever admit to that.

Annoyingly, it had been raining all night and all morning and, by the time Dean was at the bus stop, it was but a light drizzle. The ground was still riddled with puddles everywhere, and Dean held his umbrella tightly.

But for now, it was useless, and he couldn't help but sigh in exasperation as the umbrella proved useless. What he needed now was a warmer jacket.

A young woman, with red hair and dark eyes, stood a few steps away from him. He recognised her from a local restaurant in which she was a waitress, but the bags under her eyes and her slouched back told him she was tired and in no mood for conversation, however friendly it may be.

Almost on cue, the guy with the sex-hair [Dean had no proper name for him, and that seemed like a fitting title for the man] turned the corner and approached them. It was too early for many people to start commuting, so it was just the three of them.

He resisted the urge to whistle as an ice breaker and just fidgeted as he waited for his bus. Well, that was until two voices spoke, coming from his two companions.

"Anna," the deep one greeted reluctantly, and Dean couldn't help but notice how fucking deep his voice was.

The redhead with the sweet voice replied with the smallest hint of mocking, and the man – who now had a name – simply gave a curt nod. Curious, Dean thought of their interaction, but not as curious as the man's name.

_Castiel_.

_**Words: **__311_

_**Written: **__12__th__ August 2013_


	4. They Spoke On A Thursday

**Thursdays**

He'd spent all week thinking about that man – Castiel – much to his annoyance. Somehow, knowing his name increased his curiosity, and Dean couldn't help but look forward to the following Thursday. If he dared, he'd strike up a conversation – maybe to complain about the dreary weather or to ask if he had spare change [anything would do, really].

So when the day arrived and the sun shone bright, he had no choice but to discard the weather option. Unless he wanted to talk about how uncharacteristic of December it was to be so sunny, he couldn't exactly start a conversation about the _weather_.

So he set off for the bus stop slightly earlier than his usual late, but late enough to – accidentally, of course – miss the first bus. It was a surprise for him when he, from afar, saw a figure in brown. His mind immediately jumped to Castiel [but it couldn't be him – who would be crazy enough to wear such a coat in such weather].

Dean, as he got closer, saw it was indeed him, and he looked the same as always. Seeing him wear a warm coat in warm weather must've surprised him too much or something, because he heard himself blurt out; "Aren't you hot?"

Castiel turned to him and tilted his head slightly, apparently in confusion. "The weather is adequate."

Of course, instead of thinking the manner of speaking was... weird, to say the least, all Dean could think about what _that voice_. He also felt a wave of relief once he realised Castiel hadn't picked up on the – _completely unintentional _– double entendre, and pick-up line.

Responding with a lame, "Oh," Dean looked away from the black haired man and resisted the urge to fill the silence between them. It wouldn't do to make a fool of himself once again.

_**Words: **__305_

_**Written**__: 12th August 2013_


	5. A Thursday Wasted

**Thursdays**

After the embarrassment he'd felt the week before, Dean was determined to make a better, well, second impression. He spent the entire week coming up with conversation starters [Jo would tell him he was acting oddly similar to a teenage girl wanting to talk to her crush] and, finally, he came up with one. It wasn't foolproof, but it required more than one short answer – as a conversation starter, it was alright.

So it was with excitement – not that he would ever admit it; he wouldn't be excited to see a random guy he doesn't even know, pah! – that he walked to the bus stop at the same time as usual. He'd get to work _just _in time, but, he reckoned, it was worth it. For some reason.

Dean, seeing the stop empty, checked his watch for the time. It was still early enough that Castiel wouldn't have arrived, so he decided he had a half hour wait for the bus, and that in that half hour, the black haired man would surely come...

Except he didn't. Dean, rather stupidly he later thought, let the next bus pass by in order to await Castiel's arrival. By the time the bus after that one had come, he was both very late and sure the other man wasn't visiting the bus stop today.

But he wasn't sad about that at all. Nope. He was abso-freaking-lutely fine. Why on Earth should he feel unhappy because of some random guy's absence? No reason – exactly.

He certainly wasn't anticipating the following Thursday, when he'd have another chance to talk to Castiel. Nuh-huh.

_**Words: **__267_

_**Written**__: 18__th__ August 2013_


End file.
